


Domestic Normalcy

by owlaholic68



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Drow Culture, During Canon, Implied Sexual Content, James is spoiled rotten, M/M, Meet the Family, Moving In Together, Muteness, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: James' new life with the Mad Mage will never be boring.
Relationships: James/Jacques, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	1. James

**Author's Note:**

> Set while the Player Characters are travelling to the Lost Islands for a quest.

It takes Jacques a total of three hours and eighteen spells to create an entirely new floor of his house.

James patiently waits the entire time, safely outside on a blanket with the children. He’s more than content to simply watch Jacques at work: his lover’s face is scrunched up in concentration, blue eyes even brighter than normal with excitement and arcane energy.

It’s so nice to see those eyes filled with intelligence again. It’s normal to see him burning through his entire spell directory after an entire day of not casting anything. His murmurs are comforting, too, and even his sharp swearing when something goes wrong is a comfort.

Such an awful spell such as _Feeblemind_ should be banned, James thinks. Whoever discovered it, whoever took the time to refine and perfect it to be as devastating as possible, whoever that person is must have been terribly cruel. To have Jacques’ intellect and personality so completely shattered was – was so awful-

James quickly ducks his head and wipes under his eyes. He needs to stop being so silly: Jacques is back now and he’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing to cry about.

A hand tugs at his sleeve. Harry is frowning up at him. He lets go of James’ elbow and quickly signs an _Are you alright?_

During Jacques’ absence, James had taken to revising the children’s education plans. One of those revisions was teaching them Drow Sign Language. An absolute travesty that they had not been taught before, especially considering Harry’s muteness, but Jacques himself only knew the most basic of signs and had never taught them anything more than that. But both of the boys had picked it up even more quickly than verbal Undercommon.

 _I’m fine,_ he signs back. He shrugs. _The light is too bright._ The Drow language has no word for “sun”, of course, so James has to point up to make his excuse clear.

Harry looks unconvinced but nods. _Umbrella,_ he signs, meaning James’ enchanted parasol. _When Papa finishes._

They sit together for another few minutes before Jacques declares that he’s done and the house is safe to reenter. Lucien and Harry run inside excitedly while James hangs back.

Jacques sways from the sudden energy drop after using most of his arcane arsenal. James takes his arm.

“Don’t overwork yourself, dear.” He helps Jacques inside.

Jacques collapses on the living room couch. He yawns but smiles. “I just wanted to finish it today. For you, sweetheart, all for you.” He takes James’ hand and kisses it. “We’ll paint it any color you want and I’ll have your furniture brought up as soon as possible. But I’m afraid it’ll be a few days before your door to the shop is done.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” James brushes a few long curls off Jacques’ forehead. “You rest now, dear.”

“You’ve gotta go see it,” Jacques slurs, consciousness starting to slip out of his grasp. “Go see what I did.”

“I will,” James promises. He lets go of Jacques’ hand as his lover falls asleep awkwardly sprawled on the couch. He’ll surely wake in a few hours full of manic energy, trying to please James by any means necessary.

But for now, a moment of peace. James climbs the tower’s spiral staircase to find the brand new floor of the house. It’s made of the same plain outer stone as the rest of the building. The inner wall surrounding the staircase is white, the floorboards made of a light wood. The floor surrounds the inner stair column.

The room that James steps into is airy and large. There are built-in bookshelves surrounding a small fireplace. There is ample room for James’ writing desk and storage for his in-progress manuscripts. A wall separates this area from a small room containing only a deep niche built into the wall surrounding the window. It is the perfect height and depth for a window reading nook, James realizes, with already installed curtain rods to hang some sort of protective covering against the harsh sun.

The rest of the floor, accessible from the main room, is a bedroom of sorts. Another fireplace is in here, though bigger, and there is an adjoining small washroom and closet. Not large enough for a bed as James wouldn’t require one, but there is enough room for his comfortable rocking chair, his lounging couch, his dresser, and perhaps a few other chests or chairs.

There are other details that speak of Jacques’ meticulous care: all of the windows already have curtain rods. The walls are thick and insulated to keep out the constant chilly air that James often complains of. The multiple fireplaces are another thoughtful touch to make James more comfortable.

How attentive Jacques can be, James thinks. He does another few walkthroughs of his new space. His new house, his new suite of rooms to call his home. Oh, but Jacques does so much to make him happy. Too much. James had insisted that he was fine with just a small room added to the house but Jacques had given him so much more.

He’ll have to tell his mother all about this. She’ll love to come over and see it for herself, but James will have to find a time when Jacques is in a calm enough mood to be able to handle meeting her. But logistical stress like that can wait. For now, James has to work on getting his furniture moved here.

He trots downstairs: time to send a letter into town.

* * *

His furniture gets moved easily. Word spreads just as quickly through town that James has officially moved in with the Mad Mage.

“People have nothing better to do than gossip, dear,” James soothes when Jacques becomes agitated at the gossip. “Nobody has said anything bad.”

“Yet.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what? Realistic?” Jacques throws up his hands, still pacing around the kitchen. “People still hate me, I know it! They’ve just decided that I’m okay for now, I guess. Until I start doing some crazy magic shit again and they get all scared. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Stop it,” James snaps. “You’re being paranoid and – and you’re upsetting me!”

Jacques sighs and grabs handfuls of his curly hair, tugging on it as he continues to pace. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just worried.”

“I know, I know.” James holds out a hand. When Jacques takes it, he comfortingly squeezes. “People are scared of what they don’t understand. We have so few magic-users in this town. You have a reputation and people aren’t sure what to think now that so many assumptions about you have been disproven. They’ve realized that – that they were wrong, but they don’t know what’s right.”

After taking James’ hand, Jacques seems calmed slightly. He stops pacing and instead hugs James tightly. “You’re so smart,” he murmurs into James’ hair where he’s pressing kisses. “You’re so smart, dear, so smart…”

“And you’re so sweet. We just need people to see that for themselves.” James rubs his lover’s shoulders. “Why don’t you come with me to the weekly market? I’m planning on going tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Jacques chirps, seemingly extremely cheered by the idea. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.” James stands and extracts himself from Jacques’ embrace. “Now, I have to get back to work. I’m nearly finished setting up my desk. And _you_ have potions to attend to, don’t you?”

Jacques quietly swears and busies himself with his concoctions. James pauses a moment to watch him work: his concentration and thought process are wonders to behold. But his high energy levels can quickly become overwhelming, so James leaves to his little slice of peace and quiet.

* * *

The weekly market is Ruuen’s biggest market. Easily five times the size of their daily fresh goods market and fish markets combined together. Local shopkeepers set up booths. Bakeries sell fresh-baked treats, restaurants offer goodies to go. Farmers come in from miles away. There are even games, shows, entertainment for the children.

Other than book readings and poetry events, it is the single reoccurring social event for the town.

Though held rain or shine, it is a rare sunny day. James and Jacques walk into town from the tower. Joining them, huddled under James’ enchanted parasol, are Lucien and Harry, struggling to not run ahead from how excited they are. Due to Jacques’ previous paranoia regarding the townsfolk’s opinions of him and his family, the children had never been allowed to go down to the market before.

The market sprawls out of the main Market Square. They meander through a few alleys of stalls before coming to the main square.

“Boys,” Jacques gruffly mutters. His face is red: he’s painfully aware that people are staring at the group and not trying very hard to hide their interest. “Come here.” He kneels and pulls out his purse, giving a few silver each to the boys. “This is for snacks or trinkets. Come find us if you see something you want that costs more.”

Seeing the boys awkwardness at seeing their father so…awkward, James also kneels. “There is a bakery with excellent goodies,” he says, pointing down the alley. “And just beyond that is an area with games, and books right next to that. You can go play with other kids there.”

He inwardly smiles at the amount of money that Jacques just gave them. When James was a child, he always only got a few _copper_ from his mother to spend at the market. He’d save up week to week if he wanted something bigger. Jacques’ unthinking generosity always makes him smile.

“Don’t get into trouble,” Jacques warns. “Don’t start fights with other children. Or if you do, don’t do it in the main square. Take that shit to an alley.”

“J-Jacques!” James gently slaps him on the arm. “Boys, don’t get in fights. Period. Just meet us here at the fountain when the clock strikes eleven, alright?”

Both boys nod. They’re good kids: well-behaved and incredibly intelligent. Mature for their age and resourceful from their time travelling on their own.

“Run along now,” Jacques says, standing and helping James stand too. “Try to make a few friends.”

The boys give their father a kiss on the cheek and run off. James watches them go with an odd feeling of pride and love in in his chest. He’s also aware that people have been watching their exchange with interest but decides to ignore everyone else.

“Dear…” he takes Jacques’ arm. “We’d better go. I’d like to look at the fish.”

“Of course,” Jacques softly says. He guides them through the market. They stop at a booth every now and again to browse the wares. Not buying anything else, instead comparing prices.

They buy some fresh fish for that night’s dinner. On the way back from the dock section of the market, James adds some fresh citrus fruits and tomatoes.

A stand on the square sells hot tea. While James stands in line for the tea, Jacques peels off from his side and trots over to a bakery stall to get them an accompanying treat.

When James finally get his tea, Jacques still hasn’t returned. He starts to worry. The bakery is on the edge of a crowded street and James can’t see Jacques and what if something happened to him-

He finally spots Jacques in front of the bakery. He’s holding a bag of baked goods and is currently being socially held hostage in a conversation with a woman that James recognizes as being part of the Community Coalition, the town’s name for the City Council.

Jacques looks awkward as can be. He keeps trying to edge away but to no avail as the woman keeps following. Whatever questions she’s asking, Jacques seems to be answering readily but not gladly. He makes eye contact with James and the woman turns at his look.

“Ah, Mr. Jenkins!” She claps her hands. “How nice to see you too! Mr. Revel here said that he was accompanying you!” She goes to shake his hand before realizing both of his are full with cups of steaming hot tea. “My name is Cecile. I’m part of the Coalition’s community events committee.”

James nods. The events committee handled all town events that were not hosted by individual bookstores. “It – it’s so very nice to meet you, Cecile, but I’m afraid that we can’t stay to talk. Our tea will go cold soon. You’ll have to – to excuse us. Perhaps we can chat later?”

“No, no, I’ll leave you to it. All of my questions have been answered. It’s been an…interesting conversation.” She nods to them. “You two have a nice day at the market.”

“Thanks,” Jacques mutters. Surly now that her attention isn’t on him anymore. He puts an arm around James’ waist and steers them to a shady bench.

James exchanges Jacques’ tea for a croissant-like pastry filled with honey and nuts. Jacques quietly swears at its temperature and heats it with a quick burst of flame from his palm. A few heads turn from the crowd but people quickly calm when they see the application of the fire.

After a few minutes of snacking, James finally broaches the subject of what Cecile was asking Jacques about.

“Personal shit,” he answers. “Lots of personal shit about us and the children. But mostly about us. I told her all of the sweet shit.”

“Well, that’s very good.” James delicately dabs at Jacques’ cheek where he’s been overzealous in his pastry consumption. This is why he carries around extra handkerchiefs. “She’s a notorious gossip. It’ll save us having to fend off questions from about fifteen people. Maybe more if we’re lucky and she’s particularly loose-lipped.”

“Whatever,” Jacques grumbles. “I just hope that nobody else is quite so nosy.”

James personally guesses that others will be less discreet than her, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. They eat their pastries together in comfortable silence before returning to their shopping.

Potatoes, onions, and a pouch of local honey candy join the other goods in their baskets. Ears of early corn, a container of blueberries, and a bouquet of lavender are next. A few loaves of fresh bread from one of the many bakery stands. James is starting to slowly relax as they move from the more crowded square to quieter parts. Jacques is easing too as it’s clear that most people aren’t quite bold enough to ask them personal questions yet.

One booth they go to is the stall for _Daymark Supplies,_ the local general store in town. The owner, a stressed-looking middle-aged woman, seems to recognize Jacques. There is a tense awkwardness between them as they pick out noodles, soup broth mix, pickled goods, and cooking oils.

“Can I assume that you won’t need your grocery shipment this week?” She gruffly asks as she’s packaging up their purchases. Not looking at them, pretending to completely focus on her work.

Jacques’ shoulders tense again. His arm around James’ waist tightens. “No, thank you, I won’t,” he very quietly says. “Maybe not for a while.”

“Hm.” She completes their transaction. Before she hands them their wrapped goods, she pauses and gives a brief hesitant smile. “Should you need anything else, both of you are…welcome in our shop. The children, too. My girls are a few years older than them, but they’d be happy to show them around.”

Jacques makes a small noise of surprise. “Thank you,” he finally says. Looking down at his feet.

“One of us might drop by sometime during the week,” James says to break the awkwardness. “I’m sure we’ve forgotten something today.”

That makes her smile. “That’s always how it goes on market day,” she jokes. “Here you are, then. You two have a nice time at the market.”

“Thank you,” James says again since Jacques seems to have shrunk into James’ side.

Even after walking away and procuring some more provisions such as dried meats and hard cheese, Jacques still seems awkward and in an odd mood. He’s very grumbly and seems to have lost his patience for the crowd.

“We’d better head back and wait for the boys,” James finally says. “I’m starting to tire and I’d like to go home.” More importantly, Jacques seems to be _done_ with the market.

“Good idea,” Jacques mumbles. He frowns at James’ slight belabored breath from carrying a few of their baskets, and quickly produces a semi-translucent _Mage Hand_ that takes a few of the baskets from him and floats in front of them as they walk.

The casual display of magic draws more curious stares and whispers but James doesn’t seem to care too much because his head has suddenly started to ache and spin and he nearly trips over a flagstone because his sense of balance just tilted-

“James!” Jacques drops one of his baskets to catch him as he lists heavily against Jacques’ side. “Whoa, James darling!”

 _I’m fine,_ James tries to say, but his throat has dried up and he feels faint. Jacques drags him over to sit down on a cool and hard surface. Rushing water behind him makes him aware that they’re at the central fountain.

There are more whispers and gasps as Jacques raises a hand, lets his eyes briefly roll back in his head, and levitates all of their baskets into a neat pile next to James. Then he directs his _Mage Hand_ to hold James’ parasol over his head while he reaches over to dip a handkerchief into the fountain and dab at James’ forehead and neck.

“There, there, darling,” he soothes. “You’ve overdone it. Just relax, just relax, you’re okay – no, no, don’t cry sweetheart, there’s nothing to cry about, you’re fine…”

James nods and tries to stop crying but he feels dizzy and shaky and mildly nauseous. The cool water is helping and he gladly takes a long few drinks from Jacques’ canteen but he still feels sick. “I – I don’t feel well,” he whispers.

“I know, I know…” Jacques digs into their baskets and tears a chunk of bread off a loaf, gently feeding it to James. “Probably sun exhaustion, you poor thing, poor thing.” He sighs to himself, holding James’ other hand and gently kissing it. “I always forget how delicate you are. My poor little frail James. I’ll call the children back early and then we’ll take a carriage home, how does that sound? I’ll take good care of you, darling, don’t you even worry.”

Too tired and sick to take offense about being so “delicate” and “frail”, James only nods and eats a few more chunks of bread. A handful of blueberries, too, to boost his blood sugar.

Jacques uses a _Message_ spell to tell the children to come back to the fountain a few minutes early. They trot over quickly, apparently only a block or so away. Both look happy, though that cheer fades when they see James so obviously ill.

“He’s just sun-exhausted,” Jacques explains. “We’ll be taking a carriage home.”

The kids still look worried, but they are soothed by the simple explanation. Such frailties are common in Drow who live on the surface.

As Jacques prepares to help James stand to walk to the edge of the market to call a carriage, James hears a familiar voice call his name.

“James?”

Jacques immediately turns and snaps at the person. “He’s sick, leave him the fuck _alone!”_

The person falls very, very silent. James winces and grabs Jacques’ hand.

“D-Don’t be like that,” he chides his lover. “My mother is welcome to bother me any time.”

Jacques pales and now looks like _he’s_ about to faint. He’d never met James’ mother in person and would have no way of recognizing her on sight as there were several elderly Drow ladies living in town. “I – I’m sorry-”

“Please – Please run to my shop and fetch me my sun hat,” James orders, trying to keep the nervous shake from his voice. “Now, J-Jacques, please.”

Jacques recognizes the out and immediately takes it, stammering an apology and an excuse as he flees, leaving James alone with his children and his own mother. The children don’t know what to make of the situation and both are staying silent, curious eyes watching James’ mother.

“Interesting attitude,” his mother dryly remarks.

“He was only worried about me,” James excuses. “I’m not feeling very well and he’s been badgered a few times by people in the market. You caught him in a rough mood and he didn’t recognize you.”

His mother looks unsure but drops the subject. “Sun-sick again, dear?”

James forces a smile. “I’m afraid so. We got a bit excited about going to the market and may have been overzealous.” He puts a hand each on Harry and Lucien’s shoulders. “The children have never gone before. This – this is Harry, and this is Lucien. Boys, this is my mother.”

“Hello, Ma’am,” Lucien says, going forward to shake her hand. “It is very nice to meet you.” Harry says the same but in sign, receiving an impressed eyebrow from James’ mother.

“Good day to both of you, and it is very nice to meet you too.” Her still worried face creases into a soft smile. “You boys must come and visit me sometime.”

“We will,” Lucien chirps. “We’ve heard so much about your garden!”

She chuckles. “I see that my son has been extolling my green thumb again. Well, perhaps next week you can visit. How does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely, Mother,” James answers since both kids are looking to him for permission. “I’ll send word when we have some time free. One of our chickens’ eggs are due to hatch soon and we will all be busy with that.”

They continue to chat about that and other topics, the children taking lead in the conversation and entertaining his mother with their intelligence and social skills.

Out of the corner of his eye, James sees that Jacques has returned but is staying back. He clears his throat once there is a pause in the conversation. “Mother, I’m afraid we must get going. It’s nearly time for lunch.”

“Of course. You were going to call a carriage, weren’t you? Don’t bother, you can take mine. Come along, I’ll accompany you back.” At James’ beginning of a protest, she holds up a hand. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble to me. I’d love to see your house and perhaps have some time to get to know your…partner better.”

James swallows hard but gives Jacques a nod to come over. “My mother is taking us back,” he says when Jacques is close enough.

Jacques looks so nervous he can barely make eye contact with anyone. He’s chewing on one of his bracelets. “That – that’s very nice,” he stammers. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He helps James stand and uses another _Levitate_ spell to bring along their purchases. His mother raises an eyebrow at the display but smiles, her shrewd eyes taking in every detail of Jacques’ extreme care and attention to James’ health and comfort.

That’s what James wants her to see: Jacques’ words may sometimes be rough, but his actions speak of a deep love and affection. They get to his mother’s carriage quickly despite James’ slow speed. She has priority carriage parking due to her bad leg. Jacques loads their baskets while the driver hitches up the horses.

“Help my mother into to the carriage,” James whispers into his lover’s ear. “Then the children next to her, then me and you behind.”

Jacques nods, still looking oddly pale. He extends a hand to James’ mother with a tense smile, still not quite making eye contact. His mother wryly smiles and accepts the help up. Jacques then lifts the children up, giving them quick kisses on the forehead before settling them in. Next he helps James up into the back seat before getting in himself.

“How are you feeling?” He mutters, fussing with draping a blanket over James’ shoulders to cut the chill of the brisk ride.

“Better, dear, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I could warm you.”

James smiles and lays his head on Jacques’ shoulder. “No, really, I’m fine.”

“Maybe just warm your feet-”

“Jacques,” James quietly interrupts. He raises his head to give Jacques a quick kiss. “I’m feeling much better now. You don’t need to do anything more, okay?”

Jacques’ dark face finally lightens. “Okay.” He cups James’ cheek in his hand and gently kisses him with all the care of handling a porcelain doll. “I love you, James darling,” he whispers, and kisses him again.

Out of the corner of his eye, James sees his mother’s ear twitch. When she turns to answer one of Lucien’s questions, her eyes dart back to the backseat. She makes no comment but turns back with a thoughtful look on her face.

When they reach the base of the tower, James is helped down by Jacques, who twirls him once, kisses him on the cheek, and then sets him down before doing the same with the children. He levitates their baskets out and into the house.

“The house looks different,” his mother remarks. “Was something changed?”

How perceptive. James smiles and catches Jacques’ eye. “Yes, mother. J-Jacques added rooms for me. W-Won’t you come in for a moment and see them?”

His mother’s eyes narrow. She’d surely been waiting for an invitation but wanted to play coy. The Drow instinct to play social games has always been strong in her. “I may have a few minutes.”

At the confirmation, Jacques scurries inside, presumably to clean the constant mess in the entryway and living room of the house. James helps his mother down and inside.

The entryway is still cluttered but not as bad as normal: Jacques must have used magic to sweep things into closets and drawers. The floor is clear of mud. In the living room, most of Jacques’ yarn has been thrown into baskets. Piles of paper and ink have been stacked on the coffee table.

“It’s very quaint,” his mother comments. “Cozy.”

“J-Jacques has many projects that he works on, often all at the same time,” James excuses, knowing his mother’s opinion of mess. “He always has a lot going on, Mother. The children, too. We – we’re planning on making a room down here for Harry’s painting.”

“Hm.” His mother nods. “He seems very creative. He has time for all of his magical work and things like knitting?”

“Knitting is very calming,” Jacques comments from the doorway of the kitchen. He’s chewing on a stick of candy that James stocks specifically for moments when Jacques gets very agitated and needs something to gnaw on. “And I’m working on embedding magic into yarn.” He crosses his arms, letting the candy dangle from his teeth. “You can stay for lunch.”

James winces. His social skills are severely lacking. “We’d love to have you for lunch, Mother. If you have time, that is. We wouldn’t dare intrude on your social schedule.”

She politely smiles the polite smile all Drow women learn. “I’m afraid I have a lunch date with some lady friends at the market,” she replies. “But thank you for the offer.” Recognizing it as Jacques trying his very best to be nice, she adds: “I’m sure your lunches are wonderful. James always talks about your garden. To have fresh food at your fingertips is one of nature’s many blessings, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Jacques seems unsure as what to say. “Our garden isn’t as nice as yours,” he blurts, blushing a little now at her attention. “Anyways, I need to take care of a couple of potions.” He ducks back into the kitchen without so much as a goodbye.

James sighs at his lover’s awkwardness but extends an arm to his mother. “I can give you a tour,” he offers. “My rooms are only one floor up.”

“Let’s go, then,” his mother says. There is a lingering smile on her face when she glances back to the kitchen where Jacques is quietly whistling a tune to himself.

In the week or so that James has been living here, his suite of rooms has changed. Instead of being plain white, his walls are now painted a sunny yellow color. Pastel-colored rugs cover the floorboards. The built-in shelves are now filled with books. In the main room, James’ writing desk has been set up just how he likes it.

“This little one is new,” James’ mother remarks, moving over to the other new addition to the room: James’ new pet snake. It has a gigantic glass tank sitting on a wooden stand that takes up an entire corner of the room.

“Jacques got her for me from the Hub. Her name is Sunshine and she’s three years old and she a little shy, Mother, but I can take her out so you can hold her if you want-”

His mother holds up a hand, amused at his excited rambling. “Yes, if she will not get too nervous.”

James opens up Sunshine’s huge tank and picks her up. The snake curls in his arms and is easily transferred to his mother, who expertly holds it and coos to the snake in Undercommon. Other than spiders, snakes were another beloved animal in Drow culture. They were often given as gifts for children between the ages of 50 and 80: more difficult and expensive than a spider, easier and cheaper than more exotic pets.

“He got you this snake?” His mother clarifies, speaking softly and moving slowly as to not startle Sunshine.

“Yes, Mother. He knew I always wanted one.”

She turns with a raised eyebrow. “You always wanted a snake?”

“I – yes, Mother. I loved Jonah,” his childhood purebred spaniel puppy, “and Sarah,” James’ first pet spider, “and Mr. Charles,” his pet pony, “but I did always want a snake. I knew the enclosure and fresh live food would be too expensive, though, so I never asked.”

James’ mother laughs. She sets Sunshine back down inside the enclosure and closes the door. “Oh, James sweetie, I would have bought you a snake if you’d asked! It wouldn’t have been a big deal!”

“Mother, you spoil me!” James blushes. He knew how much a fancy glass tank cost. “A pony was bad enough, and no other kids that I played with got to have a dog like mine either!”

His mother comes over to give him a hug. “But you’re my special little boy and you know I would have given it to you,” she whispers. “You know I’d give you anything if you asked.”

James smiles and leans into the hug. “He sounds just like you,” he quietly answers, thinking of all the times that Jacques had promised him the same. “He would spoil me rotten if I let him.”

“That’s my boy.” James’ mother pinches his cheek. “Marrying rich. He spoils you, does he?”

“Goodness, Mother, he does.” James gives his mother one more squeeze before stepping back from the hug. He ignores the marriage comment – he and Jacques haven’t really discussed that yet. “Let me show you. There’s more.”

He shows his mother his reading nook, where Jacques has installed the most comfortable cushions and pillows money could buy as well as enchanted curtains: thin enough to see out of, strong enough to block the harsh sun. Similar to James’ parasol.

James’ “bedroom” now has his rocking chair that he usually trances in, his chest of drawers, and a plush couch built for lounging. His washroom has creams and lotions for his delicate skin and soft hair. His closet is full of sturdy boots, soft velvets, lace-edged shirts. He’s more fashionable than he’d like to admit, all thanks to his lover. Jacques really does spoil him _rotten._

Before going back downstairs, James’ mother gives him another hug, this one more serious.

“Come and visit me more often,” she whispers. “I miss you. Bring the children. Bring Jacques if he's up to it.”

“I will, Mother, I will. I’ll bring the children as soon as I can. As for J-Jacques, I – I’ll see what I can do.” James sighs and lays his head on his mother’s shoulder. “He’s not good with people. I don’t think he had any friends as a child. His – he had two sisters that were very mean. He’s never talked about it, but – but I think they stopped him from getting close to anyone.”

“Oh, dear.” James’ mother sighs. “I could tell that he was trying his very best downstairs, but he can’t help but come across as a bit rude.”

“He is trying very hard and he wanted so very badly to make a good first impression upon you. Perhaps – perhaps you can come over for tea someday. He’d like that. Get him going on magic or potion-making or embroidery and he can talk for hours. And he’s so good with the boys, so patient…” James smiles to himself. “And so good to me. So sweet but he’s shy about it. He gets very grumpy when someone points out how much he does to make me happy.”

His mother smiles back. “And he _does_ make you happy, doesn’t he?” She strokes his hair. “No, no need to answer, I can tell that he does.”

James struggles for words, instead smiling wider. “Y-Yes, Mother,” he finally says. “You – you’d better get going or else you’ll be late for your lunch. We’ve already kept you so long from the market.”

They go back downstairs where the kids are helping Jacques make sandwiches for lunch using some of the ingredients they had bought at the market. The children smile shyly at his mother and sign their goodbyes, half-hiding behind Jacques. Oddly, shyer now that they’re back home.

“My mother is leaving now,” James announces, helping her to put on her sunhat. “Jacques, dear, won’t you help me walk her out?”

“Of course.” Jacques takes his arm. “Darling, why don’t you sit down with the boys and eat? You still look so pale. All that sun…” he quietly tuts. “I’ll see her out.”

James lets himself be sat down at the kitchen table. “If you insist, dear.”

Jacques steals a quick kiss, ghosting his fingers across James’ neck and jaw. “I do. We’ll only be a moment.”

He goes over to James’ mother, gives a slight bow, and offers an arm. They walk out together to where James’ mother’s carriage driver is waiting.

Anxious about them being alone together, James can’t bear to eat a single bite of his lunch. He twists his linen napkin between his fingers, glancing at the door for any sign of Jacques returning or of something going wrong.

But when Jacques returns a few long minutes later, he seems fine. Nothing seems to have gone wrong. He sits down next to James to eat his lunch, frowning at James’ persisting worry.

“Your mother says she is excited to have the children visit,” he says. “She asked me about the timing and I said probably after the baby chicks hatch. Next Sunday, maybe.”

“That – that’s good. That’s what I told her earlier.” James plays with his fork. “She likes you, I think. She said you could visit too.”

Jacques puts his hand over James’ on the table. He squeezes it before raising it to his lips and giving it a few quick kisses. “Worrying will give you wrinkles, sweetheart. Don’t fret.”

“I – I’ll try my best.” James allows another few kisses before he insists that it’s time to return to their lunch.

They pass a relaxing rest of their day: Jacques organizes his yarn, James writes a handful of poems. They grill the fish for dinner, serving it on a base of noodles flavored with garlic and lemon. Despite James’ protests, they each have a few spoonfuls of the sorbet that Telkin had for some reason left behind with them. Jacques keeps James company on his lounge couch, whispering affections to him as his hands demonstrate his love even more.

Thus ends James’ first week of officially living with the Mad Mage.


	2. Jacques

James has been writing for the last four hours and Jacques is starting to get worried.

He knows it’s been four hours even though he doesn’t normally keep track of time because Jacques had started a batch of potions this morning that needed to be steamed for four hours _exactly_ and so he had set a timer. When he started his timer and went upstairs to check on James, James had been scribbling away, giving no more than a quiet “hm” at Jacques’ “good morning”.

How long had he been up? Had he already eaten breakfast?

Jacques frowns to himself, pausing his violin playing and trying desperately to remember four hours ago.

James had already had a stack of papers full of writing. Come to think of it, there was also a box at his side filled with more writing. He had no cup of tea at his side, no empty plate on his desk.

 _Oh no._ James hadn’t eaten breakfast and he had never come down for any food at all.

And what an oblivious bastard Jacques had been, to not notice until now. He quickly puts his instrument away and trots downstairs, pausing to check in on James on the way.

“Darling, I’m going to get you some food. Do you want tea too?”

“Mm,” James hums, not looking up. He’s writing even more quickly now, pen skittering across the page. There are now six boxes of completed pages next to him, many of them overflowing. Two empty ink bottles are precariously perched on the corner of the desk. Another one lays empty on the floor.

Jacques bites his lip, edging further into the room to try to catch his darling’s eye. “James? Sweetheart?”

There is a long pause before James flips a page and gives a hum. His hands are shaking.

“Are you – are you okay?”

“Mhm.” James pauses, rubs the sides of his head, mutters to himself, and then just starts writing again, this time nearly in a panic as if the words will disappear if he doesn’t put them down on the page this instant.

“What are you writing, a fucking novel?”

“Yep.” He doesn’t even look up.

Jacques is starting to get more than worried. He’s starting to get _scared._ “James-”

“Jacques, I’m _writing,”_ James snaps. “I – I’m sorry. Did you need something or can it wait?”

“It – it can wait,” Jacques stammers. He flees from the room.

Downstairs, he starts making tea and eggs, still confused about what he just experienced. He distracts himself with moving to the next step in his potion-making.

James is a writer. It’s what he _does._ But normally he writes poems: nothing shorter than a page, maybe two if it’s a particularly long narrative piece. He writes in the early morning hours, then maybe for an hour or so in the afternoon, then usually editing after dinner when his mind is calmer.

But James does not write _novels._ He does not write for _hours._ He does not _snap_ at Jacques like that.

“Don’t disturb James,” he tells the children. They’re good kids, smart kids, but they also usually have lessons with James after lunch. Jacques has a feeling that that’s not going to happen today. “He’s working very hard. Uh, read a book or something today, I don’t know.”

“Yes, Papa,” Lucien says. “We have our Dwarvish letters to practice.”

 _And Astronomy charts,_ Harry signs with a meaningful look.

“Dwarvish? And Astronomy?” This brings a smile to Jacques’ face. Such complex topics at such a young age! “My smart boys. Go study, then. Come down in a few hours and I’ll have a salad for your snack.”

“Yes, Papa.” They go to leave but Lucien hangs back, shuffling his feet and looking unsure. “Papa?”

“Hm?” Jacques turns away from stirring his pan of eggs. “Yes?”

Lucien bites his thumbnail, a bad habit that he probably picked up from Jacques himself. “Um. Can we call James ‘Father’?”

Jacques tears up. He nods. Clears his throat to remove a thick lump. “Y-Yeah. If he’s okay with it.”

“Okay.” Lucien scurries away.

After making sure that his eggs aren’t going to burn, Jacques takes a moment to compose himself. He cheats a little with some special brandy that steadies the shake in his hands, numbs the ache in his chest, and makes him feel less like crying.

He brings James’ tea and lunch up on a platter. His lunch is composed of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, sausage, and cheese. All of it is stuffed inside a baked potato. Fresh sour cream is drizzled on top.

“James, darling, I brought lunch!” Jacques brings it all in and realizes there’s no room on the desk. He drags a stool over with his foot and sets the tray on it. “Tea and an egg-sausage potato. You need to eat.”

“Busy,” James mutters, long elven ears twitching in annoyance.

“You need to take a break,” Jacques tries to reason. “James, please. You’ve been at this for hours. Take a few minutes. Let your hand rest. Get some fresh air.”

James continues writing, but he does hold out his left hand. “Tea. If I stop writing then I will lose my spot and I will lose my – my inspiration and my momentum and I will n-never get it back. Tea, please. I’ll eat while I work.”

Jacques puts the cup of tea in his hand. Not caring about the heat, James downs half of the cup in one gulp before handing it back. His hand remains out so Jacques can only assume that he wants his potato now.

Contrary to James’ extremely polite demeanor, he shoves a third of the potato into his mouth, smearing sour cream and cheese across his chin. The rest of the potato disappears so quickly that Jacques imagines that he must have inhaled it.

He gently cradles his dear James’ face and uses one of his trusty magic handkerchiefs to put him back to rights, smiling to himself. Remembering the countless times that James has done the same for him.

“My darling heart, do you want more tea?” Jacques presses a few kisses to James’ cheeks, forehead.

James leans into his touch even as he finishes another page, shoving it to the side to scribble on fresh sheets. “Yes, please.” He glances up, finally taking his eyes from his desk. His gorgeously soft green eyes are slightly unfocused. He gives a brief smile. “I’ll take a break in a few hours. Just a few more chapters and then I’ll go for a walk, maybe.”

“Good.” Jacques gives him his tea. “I love you, James. Write well.”

“Love you,” James mumbles, already back to writing.

Jacques leaves him alone for the rest of the afternoon. He tends to the plants in the greenhouse. He starts planning the painting annex that he’ll be making as an offshoot of the living room. Blueprints and diagrams are drawn, space is measured, and Harry is briefly consulted since this will be _his_ room.

The room won’t be started for another couple of days at the very soonest. Jacques is still working on a large potion commission for a nobleman a few towns away and that takes priority. He has also just finished James’ magical door that leads from his bedroom into the back rooms of his bookshop. That had taken a great deal more arcane energy than Jacques had originally expected.

While his potions brew, and as a break from staring at diagrams, Jacques knits for the remainder of the afternoon. He had an idea the other day during dinner when one of the children had mentioned going over to James’ mother’s house in a few days.

Drow naturally prefer warmer climates, and Ruuen was cold, wet, and miserable for them. James always got chilly even during the summer months and surely James’ mother felt the same. Wouldn’t it be a nice gift for her to make an enchanted scarf or shawl, Jacques had thought to himself.

A simple project that would look nice and improve his standing in her eyes. What’s more, it would prove that his magic could be innocent and helpful, not scary and dangerous.

He’s mostly done with the shawl itself, made of a soft deep red yarn. He has golden embroidery thread steeping in an arcane brew spelled for warmth. That would hold the magic and make it so that all James’ mother would need to do to activate it would be a simple touch.

Jacques hears James move around upstairs, though he never comes down to take a walk as originally suggested. As suppertime approaches, Jacques sets aside his finished base shawl. He takes out the enchanted thread and hangs it to dry.

The worry is starting to return as James _still_ hasn’t come down.

When Jacques climbs the stairs to check on him, he’s still at his desk. The mountain of completed work has ballooned. Jacques has to pick his away around the boxes to reach the desk.

“James, darling, it – it’s getting late,” he quietly says. “Haven’t you had enough for today? It’s almost time for dinner.”

“I’ll eat dinner up here,” James distractedly answers. He holds out his hand before realizing that Jacques doesn’t actually have food. That hand retracts and finds a place in James’ hair, tugging at the longer strands at the base of his neck.

“James-”

“I am _almost_ done!” James interrupts, voice high and agitated. “I – I will be done in a few hours, Jacques, and then – and then we can talk!”

Jacques’ worry mounts. “Sweetheart, please. You’re scaring me. You’ve been at this for twelve hours, maybe more.”

“I’m almost done,” James repeats. “Just a little longer. I took a break earlier. I – I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re shaking.” Jacques grabs his hand. “If I was doing this, you would have fucking dragged me away a long time ago. Please, James. For me?”

James tries to jerk his hand away. He tears up and Jacques’ heart cracks right down the middle. “I – I’m doing so _well_ though and – and if I stop now then I – I’m going to _forget_ my ideas, J-Jacques!”

He’s crying now and it’s all Jacques’ fault but he’s only trying to help. “Jot it all down,” he reasons, sliding a piece of scrap paper over. “Write it down really quick and then take a break.”

With tears rolling down his cheeks, James does so and then throws the pen aside.

“There, there,” Jacques tries to soothe. He pulls James up and leads him over to the corner of the room. He opens up the door of Sunshine’s enclosure and gently lifts the snake out, placing her in James’ arms. “I’m going to go fetch dinner. Some soup, how does that sound? Some nice hot soup from the Panoramic, maybe in a bread bowl. With cheese on top, James darling, how about that?”

James nods, cradling his pet snake closely. He sniffles, trying so very hard to stop crying with no success. “K-Kids?” He quietly asks.

“The kids are upstairs at the coop,” Jacques answers. “You should go up. They want to see you. Harry said that he could hear cheeping from the eggs. They’ll probably hatch overnight or maybe in the morning if we’re lucky.” He cradles James’ chin and uses a _Calming_ handkerchief to wipe away his tears. “Go up there, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.” He presses his forehead to James’, wishing he could just make everything better with a snap of his fingers. “I love you, James. I just want you to be okay.”

“L-Love you,” James shakily answers.

“Love you,” Jacques repeats even though he already said it. There’s no such thing as saying it too much.

Leaving James, he rushes downstairs, throws on his cloak and shoes, and grabs a basket before running out the door. He would have taken James’ door to his bookshop but it would have landed him on the other side of town: The Panoramic restaurant and tavern is on the water, just across the bridge into town. It’ll be faster to walk.

As he crosses the bridge into town, his heartrate starts to speed up. This will be the first time he’s been into town alone since years ago. In the past, he’d be sure to be run right back out of town or given only dirty looks and muttered curses, but now he’s not quite sure what to expect. The reception at the market hadn’t been…bad. People were still suspicious, not sure what to think. James was right though: they knew they had been wrong but didn’t know what was right about him.

When he enters the sleek and fashionable Panoramic restaurant, it briefly falls silent as people notice his entrance.

Jacques can feel his cheeks and ears burning, knows that his fair freckled face is bright red at the attention. He goes to the bar, ignoring everyone else.

“Four soups, please,” he gruffly mutters. “To take with me, if you can package them like that.”

The bartender, a middle-aged half-elf woman with long black hair, nods. “Yes, sir,” she politely says, customer service habits overriding the curiosity and surprise in her eyes. “Would you like those in bread bowls or normal bowls?”

“Bread bowls.” Jacques is aware that whispers are being exchanged behind him. He resists the urge to turn around and glare. “And one with extra mushrooms.”

“Sure thing.” She sends the order back to the kitchen. “That’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” Jacques moves aside to sit on one of the barstools. At least he remembered to be polite. He taps his fingers on the bar, shoulders hunched and hoping to every God that will listen that nobody tries to talk to him.

No such luck: someone clears their throat only a minute later.

“Excuse me,” an elderly female voice says. “Um, Mr. Revel?”

Jacques briefly closes his eyes to collect himself. He turns to see an old halfling lady with a cap over her hair. “Yes?”

“Oh, Ms. Jenkins told me all about you and I just wanted to say hello!” She smiles widely. “I’m Ms. Salonius, but you can just call me Patricia. I play cards with the lovely Ms. Jenkins and she was telling us all about how pretty your house was and how sweet the children were. And how is James doing? How are your children?”

Do you ever shut the fuck up, Jacques wants to snap. Instead he bites his lip until the urge to be an asshole goes away. “Fine,” he mumbles. Seeing that she wants more, he hunches his shoulders and hopes that his damn soup is ready soon so he can get the hell out of here. “James was writing a lot today. The boys are learning Dwarvish.”

She puts a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Dwarvish? How wonderful for them to be learning a language!”

“They already know a bunch of other fucking languages,” Jacques quietly grumbles.

“Oh, they do? Do tell.” Patricia leans forward with an interested look. “I’m always saying how we need to teach children more languages these days. What else do they know?”

“Elvish and Undercommon, of course. Infernal, halfling, and a handful of words in a bunch of languages. They did a lot of travelling. But James thinks they should learn Dwarvish too. He’s teaching them.” He leaves out that they also know Abyssal; people don’t take well to mentions of Hellish languages.

Patricia smiles again. “So many. And James is teaching them?”

“Yes. He’s a good teacher. The boys are very smart. They like learning.” Jacques is starting to run out of social patience.

Like a beam of light shining down through a storm, a beacon of hope in the darkness, Jacques sees his soup being brought out.

“I – I’m sorry but my soup is ready,” he blurts. “I need to bring it back before it gets cold. It was very nice talking to you.” He inwardly winces. It was so totally _not_ nice to talk to her.

She smiles another amused smile. “How nice to meet you, Mr. Revel. I look forward to chatting with you again.”

“Yes,” Jacques says, no longer paying attention at all. He slips past her and packs his soup up in his basket, paying an appropriate amount of money. He normally just threw gold on the table, but James had advised him to stop doing it since it might make people nervous or intimidate them. He does tip well and hurries out with his soup, nearly jogging home in his haste to be out of the city.

He finally makes it safely home.

“Boys! James! Dinnertime!” He yells up the tower, unpacking the bread bowls and fetching spoons for everyone.

“One minute, Papa!” Lucien calls down. Jacques hears water running as the boys wash up. James comes down a few moments later, still shaky but not upset anymore. The children run down the stairs, excited at the idea of food brought in from town.

Dinner passes easily and comfortably. James is quiet but calm. The children inform Jacques that they saw cracks forming on a few of the soon-to-hatch eggs, and they think they even saw something starting to come out. The broody mother hen had stopped them from coming too close but they were still excited, even after having suffered a few warning pecks from her.

“Don’t stay up all night watching,” James quietly says. “They’ll take a long time to come out. You’ll have time to meditate.”

“Um,” Lucien starts. “Can we meditate with you tonight?”

James freezes, an unreadable expression on his face. “Y-Yeah,” he finally says. He shakily tears off a piece of his bread bowl. “Of course – of course you can. Anytime.” He dips the bread into his cheesy soup and stuffs it in his mouth to avoid further eye contact.

Jacques reaches under the table and takes James’ hand. He squeezes it as they finish eating.

“Boys, can you please start washing up?” He softly requests. He raises James’ hand and kisses the back of it. “I’ll be there in a minute to help.”

“Yes, Papa,” Lucien says, sharing a look with Harry. They bring their plates into the kitchen and start washing them.

James heads back upstairs to finish his work. Jacques tags along and waits until they’re alone in James’ rooms to speak.

“The boys meditating with you,” he starts. “Is that okay? I can tell them if it’s not okay.”

“It’s fine, really. It – it’s just…” James trails off with a smile. “It’s a thing that parents do with their children. I meditated with my mother until I was nearly a hundred. Which is maybe a little long for the average Drow, but not unusual. But it’s good, Jacques, really. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Jacques bites his lip. He wasn’t going to tell James about what Lucien had asked earlier, but James does not do well with surprises. “Speaking of…” He sighs.

“What?” James immediately looks panicked.

“No, no, nothing bad,” Jacques hurries to reassure. “I just wasn’t sure if I should be the one to tell you, but Lucien asked me today if he could call you ‘Father’. I thought it might be best if it wasn’t a surprise.”

James has that frozen look on his face again. He squeezes Jacques’ hand tighter than his thin frame should be possible of. He clears his throat a few times. “That’s fine,” he croaks. “Good. That’s good.” Tears are pooled in the corners of his eyes, but they’re not bad tears.

“Good. I’ll tell him it’s okay, then.” Jacques gives a few kisses, as many as James can stand before getting overwhelmed by the attention. “I’d better go down and help them. I’ll leave you to your writing.”

He goes downstairs and helps the children clean up. Then it’s time to make sure that they take baths before going up to watch the baby chickens hatch together. James even takes a few brief breaks from writing to come up and check on them.

A few of the chickens hatch. The boys quickly tire and almost fall asleep: Harry in Jacques’ lap, nearly too big now, and Lucien leaning against his side. Jacques carries them, one on each hip, cheating significantly with magic because his little babies are so big now, so grown-up, and also so fucking _heavy._

James isn’t writing anymore when he brings the boys to his room. He’s organizing the stacks of finished papers, tying some together and writing notes on the bundles, likely chapter indications.

“You need to go to bed,” he quietly admonishes when Jacques enters. “Just because we can trance for a few hours doesn’t mean you can do the same.”

“I’ll go to sleep,” Jacques promises. “In my bed, for once.”

He sets his children on James’ lounging couch. Each boy gets a hug, a kiss on the forehead, and a blanket over their sleepy body.

“Good night,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right upstairs if you need me.”

“G’Night, Papa,” Lucien answers. Harry gives him a kiss on the cheek and demands another hug. Then it’s more kisses for James, who is settling in his rocking chair. The rocking chair is heavily padded and designed especially for elven trancing.

“I think Lucien might already be asleep,” James quietly remarks. “Oh – Oh well, it’ll be a while before they’re fully weaned off sleeping.” Ten or fifteen years more, he had explained to Jacques earlier. For developmental evolutionary reasons, Drow babies and young children slept like non-elven races did, but they slowly stopped as they grew up, and tranced instead like adults. The younger the child, the more they needed sleep.

Jacques drapes a heavy quilt over James’ lap. “Good night, darling,” he whispers. Leans down to be as close as possible to one of the only people in this whole fucking world that matters to him. Every person he really cares about is in this room. His babies and his darling. His sweet little porcelain doll, his fragile quiet bookworm, his one and only. He would kill and die for James, for his kids. He would burn down the whole world for them. “I love you, James. Fuck, darling, I _fucking_ love you.”

James leans into his touch and smiles. He glances up, his gorgeous eyes meeting Jacques’ under his soft long fluttering lashes. Jacques could stare into those eyes forever. He could look at that smile without ever looking away. He doesn’t want to look away, he doesn’t want to let go, but he knows that James becomes overwhelmed easily and he’s already done too much.

“I love you,” James whispers, barely audible. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night,” Jacques repeats. He gives one last kiss. Fuck, he just wants to stop time so this kiss can last forever. He could do such a thing. He could make this one second last hours. But instead he pulls away and tries to imprint the gentle green of James’ eyes into his head, where the color and image can stay forever. “Good night.”

Jacques leaves. He goes to bed and sleeps soundly, knowing that his precious family is safe and sound and happy.


	3. Harry and Lucien (Part 1)

Lucien wakes up one morning and yawns. He’d stayed up late reading and now regrets it. Instead of sleeping, he really should have just meditated instead. He rubs his eyes, stumbles out of bed, and jams his feet into his slippers.

The sun is already up: he’s late to rise today. He quickly makes his bed and gets dressed before heading into the small washroom he shares with Harry. A damp cloth freshens his face and a wide-toothed comb puts his hair to rights.

When Lucien peeks into Harry’s room, his brother is already up and moving, sweeping his floor with a small broom.

 _Late,_ his mute brother signs with a knowing look. _Papa wants us to clean._ He nods at a small bucket of water with a cloth draped across the top.

“You use it first, I’m going to run down and get breakfast,” Lucien says. He trots down the stairs.

He passes James’ room and sees him writing at his desk, piles and piles of paper heaped around him. Right, he was writing a book apparently. It’d been two days since he’d started and it seems like he’s almost done already.

“Good morning,” Lucien quietly says, shyly half-hiding behind the doorframe.

James raises his head and blinks, looking around confusedly before his eyes land on Lucien. “Oh, good morning,” he responds. “You missed breakfast. I was worried.”

“I slept in. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think there are still some eggs left.” James immediately goes back to writing, frowning at a page and muttering to himself.

Lucien continues downstairs. In the living room, his papa is packing up boxes of potion bottles. He barely glances up when Lucien comes down, focusing on wrapping fragile glass bottles in special wrap and nestling them in a special box made for this.

“Good morning,” he mumbles. “If you clean fast enough, you can come with me into town. I need to get these on a boat today.” He raises his head and frowns. “Did you eat yet?”

“Not yet, Papa. I’m going to eat quickly and clean really fast and then I’ll come with you.” Lucien runs into the kitchen and shovels forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, washing it all down with a cup of milk. He takes a fresh apple with him upstairs and eats bites of it in between sweeping his room, wiping down windows and tables, and finally giving the floor a pseudo-mop with a wet rag.

His room is much easier to clean than his brother’s, which has paint and easels and paintbrushes strewn about. Lucien has much less clutter which means that he can clean his room quickly, which is good because he had to be fast because he – because he was going to do something after this…

Lucien pauses. Frowns. Tries to remember why he was trying to be fast but – but can’t remember-

“Lucien!” Papa calls up the staircase. “I’m leaving! Are you coming with me?”

 _Oh._ “Yeah, Papa, I’m coming!” Lucien sprints downstairs and trips on a stair, sending him sprawling-

Except that his Papa’s magic catches him, gently floating him down the rest of the spiral staircase.

“Can you _not_ scare the shit out of me for _one_ day?” Papa asks, standing at the base of the stairs with his arms crossed. “How many times have I asked you to _walk_ down the stairs? And yet you run every time.”

“Sorry, Papa.” Lucien meekly wrings his hands. “I’ll try to remember next time.”

Papa sighs and uncrosses his arms, holding them out for a hug. “Please do try. Now come along.”

Lucien quickly dons his cloak, sunhat, and boots. He even slips on his coin purse, which he has taken the habit of carrying around just in case he wants to spend his allowance on anything. He follows his Papa, who levitates along his many boxes of completed potions as they walk into town. Lucien skips along next to him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being able to go into town. It’s just so _exciting_ and so _new._

The docks are even more exciting. There are only three ships at the moment, but there are boxes and barrels and crates and people moving things and Lucien sticks close to his Papa’s side because he feels rather small here.

His father briefly negotiates with a ship captain and his potion boxes get carefully loaded onto the ship. Money is exchanged. Papers are signed.

It’s a simple process that is over too soon.

“While we’re here, we need to visit a few shops,” Papa says as he leads Lucien away from the docks. “I want to make jam with some of our figs and we don’t have the right jars. Plus I wanted to start looking at lumber for Harry’s painting room.” He wraps an arm around Lucien’s shoulders. “How does that sound?”

“Good, Papa,” Lucien chirps. They get to go _shopping._ He happily trots along.

They visit a carpenter where his Papa awkwardly purchases some raw lumber to be delivered to the house later that week. While he can use magic to make something out of nothing, it’s a lot less work to make something _finished_ from something _raw._

The carpenter’s shop has lots of interesting things. Lucien wanders while the adults talk endlessly. He looks at different logs, even touching a few that look weird. There are lots of tools, some sharp (which he avoids) and some not sharp (which he touches). He’s looking at a tool that looks like a giant flat screwdriver when his Papa calls for him.

“I’m so sorry, he’s very curious,” his Papa gruffly excuses to the carpenter. His father’s face is bright red. “Lucien, you shouldn’t wander out of sight. There could be dangerous things.”

“Sorry, Papa.” Lucien takes his father’s hand. “Um…”

The carpenter, a burly woman wearing a leather apron over her clothing, smiles and kneels. “I love curious youngsters. Did you have a question?”

“What is the big screwdriver?” Lucien blurts. “The really big one.”

She picks up the tool. “Oh, this? This is a chisel. It takes away little bits of wood that I don’t want. Do you have any more questions?”

Lucien shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Well you can always visit again if you have more questions. Or if you need more lumber,” she adds with a look to Papa.

“Duly noted. Have a…nice day.” Papa awkwardly coughs and leads them away back into the downtown area. Lucien keeps a hold of his hand, especially when they get into busier parts of the small city. They have to cross many streets, and carriage drivers often have difficulty watching out for little children.

They start passing less houses and more businesses. Bookstores, stores that supply bookstores, and cafes where you might go read your bookstore purchase all reside here. Then it’s restaurants, taverns, and best of all: bakeries.

In one bakery window they pass, a small cluster of candies catch Lucien’s eye. He slows to stare: big caramel chunks with salt flakes on top.

Papa stops when Lucien does. “It’s nearly lunch,” he argues when he sees what Lucien is staring at. “You can’t eat sweets before a meal.”

Lucien’s shoulders droop at the logic. “Okay, Papa,” he mutters. He turns away from the window.

His Papa gustily sighs. “Oh, alright then. But just one, okay?”

“Okay!” Lucien tries not to seem too excited. “Maybe we can split one in half – they’re _huge!”_

Papa smiles, a grin that becomes tight when they enter the bakery. He’s still so tense around people. “Two of those caramel candies,” he orders. “Actually, you know what, I’d like a bag. We’ll take some home.”

“Please,” Lucien quietly adds.

“Please,” Papa echoes. “One small pouch, please.”

The clerk gives a small smile and goes to packing them up. “These are our special seasonal jasmine brown sugar salted caramels,” she explains. “They go best with our homemade Jasmine tea. Would you like some today?”

His Papa’s face gets even redder. “No thanks,” he grumbles. “We’re going to eat them as we walk.”

She shrugs and accepts his money before giving them the caramels. “Have a lovely walk, then.”

Papa quickly turns heel and ushers them out of there. He splits one of the candies and chews on his half while Lucien savors his. It’s even better than it looked: sweet, salty, slightly floral. It melts in his mouth. He happily skips along with his father as they continue their shopping.

Their last stop is _Daymark Supplies,_ a general store on the edge of town. His Papa seems extra tense going in here. The woman at the counter is equally as tense but gives them a curt greeting and asks them what they need.

“Jars,” Papa quietly responds. “I’m going to make some fig jam and I need small canning jars.”

“Over here,” she indicates. “Let me show you.”

“Th-Thank you,” Papa mutters. “Lucien, you may look around, but please stay within eyesight and don’t touch anything, okay?”

“Okay, Papa,” Lucien chirps. He wanders off to look at the packed store. Floor-to-ceiling shelves hold dry goods, cooking tools, and other household necessities. There is a section for fabric, thread, yarn, and all of the basic tools to work with such materials. Then come writing utensils, knives, other small tools. Art supplies, too: he’ll have to tell Harry all about it.

Papa has noticed the textile selection and has migrated there while the shop owner packs up his chosen jars. He hums over yarn and amasses a reasonable selection of needles and thread.

Meanwhile, Lucien has found the toy section. There are all sorts of exciting things here: toy swords, matching shields, and hobby-horses. Then there are the street games: balls, hoops and sticks, stilts. Dolls and stuffed bears catch Lucien’s eye, but he fancies himself too old for such baby toys. There are expensive toys here too: large toy boats and elaborate kites. Even a play carriage!

One thing, though, does pique his interest: spinning tops. There’s a whole half a shelf of them in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Some are plain wood and some are painted in local nature scenes or folklore stories. It’s those that draw his attention. If such detail can be painted on such small surfaces, what if he got a plain top for his brother to try painting? Harry has been experimenting painting on tiny surfaces recently, but he’d never tried a top before!

He searches for the biggest one, which is the size of his fist and made of a plain light wood. It’s smooth and has a large flat part that would be perfect for a little painting. Lucien also picks out a smaller one for himself, a cheaper top that is painted in a simple colorful striped design. That way they can play with them together when Harry finishes his.

“Papa, I’m going to buy these toys,” Lucien tells him.

Papa is distracted and only hums in response.

Lucien shrugs and continues to the counter while his Papa picks out the last of the things that the household needs.

“Hello, Ma’am, I’d like to buy these, please,” he politely says to the shop owner.

She smiles and loosens up a little. “Okay. Are you paying for them or is your father?”

“I am. I saved up my allowance from after last week’s market,” Lucien explains. “The big one is for my brother to paint because he likes painting and it will be pretty when it’s done. The little one is for me so we can play together with them.”

“That’s very nice,” she says. “Your brother paints?”

“Yes, Ma’am, he’s really really good! He paints and draws and sketches and right now he’s trying to paint on the backs of hand mirrors and in locket frames and little things so I thought he’d enjoy painting a top.”

She smiles again. “Yes, how fun.”

While Lucien prepares his money, she wraps the tops in paper and puts them into a little bag for him. Lucien hands over five copper coins: three for Harry’s top, two for his own.

When he gets done, his father is ready, now buying significantly more than originally anticipated. They’d come in for jars and were walking out with said jars as well as sewing materials, laundry soap, a rolling pin, a few wooden spoons because Papa had accidentally burnt some the other day, and several pairs of new socks.

“Where might I find more clothing?” Papa gruffly asks when they’re done. “Good cheap clothing, for the boys.”

“Down this street towards the Square,” she directs. “There’s a sign with a pair of trousers painted on it. They have a good selection with plenty of cheap plain shirts and the like.”

“Thanks. Both of them have sprung up like weeds this summer and I’ve been at my fucking wits’ end trying to keep up,” Papa grumbles. “Lucien here is wearing the only pair of trousers that don’t look like shorts on him. All of Harry’s shirts are too tiny so he’s been wearing one of James’ and has already ruined it with paint. It’s a goddamned nightmare because I know that as soon as I buy anything, they’ll grow right out of it.”

The shopkeeper cracks a smile and a small laugh. “Don’t I know it. My girls finally just got out of that phase. But they’ll have what you need down there.”

“Thanks. That’s all,” Papa awkwardly says before leading them out.

“More shopping?” Lucien questions, already a bit tired.

“Not today, I’m afraid. We’d better get back to the others. We’ll go another day with your brother so you can both try on what you need. Now come along.”

Lucien skips home with his Papa. A full morning of shopping in town, plus a gift for his brother – what an exciting day!

* * *

Harry he uses a flat spatula to flip the crepe in his pan so that the other side cooks. He's trying to ignore his anxious Papa.

“Good, perfect,” James quietly encourages. He’s leaning over Harry’s shoulder ready to jump in if his assistance is needed. “We’re only going to let this cook for a minute. That’s all it needs.” He instructs Harry on how to remove the crepe from the pan and put it onto a plate.

His Papa, sitting at the kitchen table, is still staring at them and nibbling on his thumbnail. A terrible habit that he’d instructed the children to remind him to break.

 _Papa,_ Harry reproaches in sign. _Your finger._

Papa swears and stops chewing on it, reaching over to grab a burnt wooden spoon to chew on instead.

Next is an easy step, where Harry spoons the filling into the crepe. They’d made the filling earlier that evening. It consisted of fresh mushrooms, garden greens, caramelized onions, cheese, and tiny bits of ham. James had done most of the work since it involved a lot of stovetop cooking, but Harry had helped trim the ham slices and cut the thin slices into even smaller pieces so that they would go into the crepes nicer. James had made sure to show him how to cook the meat and how to tell if it was done.

Harry enjoyed cooking. It was fun to learn, especially since Papa had never ever taught them anything before. James obviously loved to teach. Harry had caught a conversation between James and his Papa a few weeks ago where James had mentioned that Drow children typically learned to cook very early on as they were expected to be moderately self-sufficient at a young age, being able to prepare themselves snacks without supervision and assisting in meal preparation with older children and adults.

It made him feel very mature to be doing this. Harry had basically made the entire crepe batter by himself by reading a recipe. If he wanted to, he could make it all on his own and just put slices of fruit or soft chocolate cream inside and he would have made a whole snack independently.

He carefully makes the rest of the crepes, only having a few accidents where a crepe tore while flipping, or when he was clumsy transferring it to a plate.

Their dinner crepes are done and are quickly enjoyed by the family along with a sausage-potato skillet that James had cooked. Dinner is always a warm affair with lots of talking and laughter. They have a small kitchen table so there’s not a lot of variation in seating, but tonight Harry is sitting next to his brother one bench while his father and James sit hip-to-hip across from them.

“I’m going to start printing my book tomorrow,” James announces. “I’ve been editing _forever_ and – and I think I’m done. I’ll be doing one last pass tonight and then getting up early tomorrow. I probably won’t be here for breakfast. I’ll take something with me.”

 _What about lunch?_ Harry signs.

“Probably not,” James responds with a bit of a frown. “It’ll take a few days to get the whole thing done, so I’ll probably just stay at my store the whole time. I’ll get food from town.”

 _Studies?_ Harry asks.

“Continue with what you’re already doing.” James smiles to himself. “Maybe you can come with me to my store tonight and pick out a book to read. Something a little difficult but doable. How does that sound?”

Lucien bounces up and down in his chair. Harry nods.

But his Papa does not seem so excited. He actually looks really upset and worried and - and a little guilty?

 _Papa?_ Harry hesitantly asks. He doesn’t like to see his father look like that.

Papa heavily sighs. “James, darling, it’s my fault for not talking to you about this before.”

James’ face falls. “What?”

“I got a request for a job at the Hub. I – I was going to leave early tomorrow morning and – and even with teleporting there and back, I’m still going to be gone for two days.” He sighs again and lays his head on James’ shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry and I don’t want to delay your process because I _know_ how much this means to you but – but I can’t put it off, it’s urgent.”

James looks like he’s holding back tears. “We – we’ll talk about it,” he stammers. “I – I’m sure that we – we can work something out.” He abruptly stands and flees the kitchen. Harry hears his door slam upstairs.

His Papa looks wrecked. He puts his head in his hands, then shakes his head and runs after James.

The boys quietly finish eating their dinner.

 _Plates?_ Harry suggests. They don’t want to disturb their parents but they don’t know what to do.

“Good idea,” Lucien agrees. They wash their plates and put them in the drying rack, then do the same with the pots and pans, which takes both of them because they’re so big. For their parents’ unfinished food, they wrap it up and put it in the coldbox, then wash their plates too.

While Lucien wipes down the kitchen table and counters with a wet rag, Harry sneaks upstairs to fetch Mugi’s kitten Snowball that she’d left with them.

He passes James’ rooms, where the door is partially cracked open. Harry does a quick peek and sees his parents with their heads together quietly talking. Once or twice, his Papa reaches up with a handkerchief to dab at James’ cheeks, but otherwise they seem calm and okay.

Harry stops spying. It’s not good to spy, but he was very curious and a little bit didn’t hurt. He fetches Snowball, who was napping in the late evening sun on Harry’s bed. The little rescued tiger cub was still very young and it needed special care.

The boys had learned a lot about how cats grow and what kittens need and how to take care of a small animal. James had said that it was very important to take proper care of other living things. They’d spent a few days reading books about cats and looking at diagrams of their anatomy and how they grow.

Harry and Lucien, the main caretakers of the kitten right now, also had been given a list of warning things to look out for. They were supposed to look at the tiger kitten’s sandbox every day and report if anything looked or smelled strange. They were also supposed to do a full inspection of the cat’s body every other day: checking teeth, claws, eyes, tail, and making sure the kitten moved normally and didn’t have any problems.

Downstairs, Harry prepares the kitten’s dinner as he’s been taught. First, he takes a candle stove, carefully lights it, and puts a small quantity of goat’s milk in the mini pot. That will take several minutes to appropriately heat, so he takes out a tiny cutting board that his father had bought specifically for this. Next he washes his hands, fetches a small chunk of raw lamb meat from the coldbox, and carefully cuts it into really tiny pieces. Then he puts it in a small dish and washes his hands again.

The slightly warmed milk gets poured into the dish too. The kitten is already eating some of the lamb when he pours the milk in, hungry as it was from a full day of sleeping.

“It does nothing but it’s so hungry,” Lucien comments from over his shoulder. “It just sleeps. Why is it so hungry?”

 _Growing,_ Harry responds. They’d read that kittens grew a lot and needed a lot more food than you’d think.

“It has already grown a lot,” Lucien agrees. “Here, I’ll wash your stuff.” He washes the candle-warmer pot and the cutting board.

Chores done and parents still upstairs, they watch the kitten eat and even interest it in playing with a little piece of string before it’s done and needs its sandbox. They leave it to do its business in privacy and go to the living room to quietly play.

About ten minutes later, their Papa comes down. He looks tired and keeps twisting strands of his hair between his fingers.

“Oh good, boys, you’re both here. I’d like to talk to you.” He sits with them on the couch.

Harry keeps feeling like a baby for it, but he demands a hug from his Papa, who gladly gives one and keeps his arm around Harry while they sit. Lucien sits on his other side.

 _Everything okay?_ Harry asks.

“Yes, we’ve worked things out. James is resting.” Papa heavily sighs. “I really messed up with that. I didn’t communicate and James _hates_ surprises and I really fucked up _bad._ But we talked it out and came to a decision.” He sighs again. “I’m still going to go to the Hub tomorrow morning. And James is still going to start printing his book. You two are so mature and independent and we can trust that you can take care of the house and take care of yourselves for two days.”

“You – You’re leaving us _alone?”_ Lucien asks. He glances at Harry. He looks unsure.

“Yes, we are. James will be popping back often to check in on you, and if you need anything, you can go through the door to see him. Don’t cook anything, okay? Just go over to him if you need food. How does that sound?”

Harry quickly looks down and sniffles to try to hold back tears. He – he doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with him, but he doesn’t want his Papa to go and he doesn’t want James to go and – and he’s just a little kid-

“Oh, Harry…” Papa notices his distress and hugs him, pulling him into his lap even though Harry is much too big for that now. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’ll only be for a little bit, okay? James will be right here. He’s going to give you food and – and he’s going to come over to tuck you in and he’ll still be here, right here.”

Harry nods and lets his father dry his cheeks with a handkerchief. He even lets himself be picked up and partially-carried partially-levitated into the kitchen where his Papa feeds him a few pieces of caramel candy. He’s not a baby but he lets himself be babied. Lucien gets the same treatment since he also seems upset, though hiding it better.

Papa gets them into their nighttime bathing routine, which they can do all by themselves, so that he can set up his teleportation circle. Before he leaves, he gives them each another big hug and more kisses on the forehead.

“I’ll _Message,”_ he promises. “At least twice a day. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, Papa,” Lucien echoes.

 _Love you,_ Harry signs.

Papa leaves.


End file.
